


if you cry out in the dark

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alien Biology, Other, Rough Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just stay <i>still</i>,” snaps Lying, shoving at Kirin’s shoulders. He’s being uncooperative as usual, shifting and wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable on top of the bunched sheets of the mattress, which isn’t making straddling him any easier.</p><p>(In which Lying's biology is slightly... non-standard.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you cry out in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to blame [delightfulinbedmon](http://delightfulinbedmon.tumblr.com) and [her gorgeous artwork](http://delightfulinbedmon.tumblr.com/post/101216516522) for this one on, despite the fact i suggested it in the first place. written to "i could be yours" by kyla la grange, which is where the title's taken from. just gonna... preemptively apologise for everything with this one and just leave it here.
> 
>  **warnings** for sex, creepiness, and slightly malevolent tentacles.

“Just stay _still_ ,” snaps Lying, shoving at Kirin’s shoulders. He’s being uncooperative as usual, shifting and wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable on top of the bunched sheets of the mattress, which isn’t making straddling him any easier.

Kirin’s broad enough that they struggle to get their legs around the width of his hips and have their knees touch the mattress, but they manage it. The position doesn’t give them much leverage, barely enough to grind against the muscle and soft fur of his lower stomach, but that’s enough. That’s all they need.

They brace hands against his shoulders and dip their head to mouth faintly at his chest, closing pointed teeth just a little too hard around one nipple in an attempt to wipe the smirk off Kirin’s face. It doesn’t quite work – but his back arches, the sharp pain of it drawing a gasp from him, and Lying counts that as a victory.

Before Kirin can recover, they grind down against him, hard, drag themself against the skin of his stomach. The small, dark nubs between their legs are still soft, but the friction of contact sparks heat down their spine nonetheless. Another slow, forceful rock and they feel the stirrings of arousal, feel faint movement between their thighs, and smile.

Beneath them, Kirin shifts, sighs a little at the contact. He’s hard, trying not to buck up against nothing out of desperation for something, _anything_. When he tries to reach past Lying to touch himself they slap his hand away.

“Greedy,” murmurs Lying faintly, bares their teeth at the chuckle the word draws from Kirin and grinds down hard enough to drive the breath out of him a little. Their hips leave a smear of translucent black slick over his skin when they push forward, and they hiss out a low noise of delight. 

Kirin reaches up, curls broad palms around their hips to steady them when they slide a little. He braces them for a second, waits for them to recover, and then pulls them down against him slowly but firmly until they’re gasping.

Lying works with him, times their rhythm to match Kirin’s, lets him help them with the slow, rolling motion so they don’t have quite as much strain on their legs. The added pressure of him pulling them down is like fire in the pit off their stomach, hot and slow-building, and they dig needle teeth into their own lip to stop from crying out with it.

They rock down against him, slip a little in the puddle of oily slick they’ve left on his stomach and slide back far enough that his cock nudges against their ass. It draws a sharp inhale of breath from both of them – Kirin from the shock of contact, and Lying from the faint, questing interest of the tentacles between his legs. They’ve elongated from the small, soft nubs between Lying’s legs into tendrils a few inches long that grab at Kirin’s skin, leave smears of something dark and glistening and oily in their wake.

The coarse fluff of Kirin’s happy trail and the curves of his ribs and stomach aren’t enough to entertain them for long. They’re insistent, trying to push through where Lying’s thighs are pressed tight against Kirin’s waist, a futile attempt to slot themselves through non-existent space. The promise of Kirin’s lower body, interesting shapes to wrap around and explore, is like a siren song.

Lying leans forward, obligingly, lifts themself up and tilts forward to let the tentacles slip underneath them and down the length of Kirin’s body. They drag against his skin as they stretch and lengthen to wind happily around his hips and slip under his thighs, twist tight around his legs.

One of them wraps around his cock, gentler than the others, a loose coil of slickness that has Kirin thrusting up into it until Lying pins him down again. “No, no,” says Lying, leaves one hand on Kirin’s shoulder and reaches the other up to grab at the curl of one ram horn to keep him flat against the mattress. “Don’t do that.”

The noise Kirin makes isn’t quite human – a low, hungry rumble somewhere deep in his chest as he lets the tentacles drag his legs further apart, lets them coil around him and wrap him in their slick embrace. “Lying…” he mutters, somewhere between a warning and a groan.

The only response he gets is laughter.

Lying presses their face against the side of his neck, leaves a surprisingly tender kiss just under the bolt of his jaw. “They won’t do anything if you don’t struggle,” they whisper. “And you’re not going to struggle, are you?”

They nuzzle at a spot just behind Kirin’s ear and smile when they feel him turn liquid and pliant beneath him at the touch. It’s so easy to play people, Lying’s found, when you know the right buttons to press.

The tentacles lengthen again, impossibly, sliding further and further in a way that surely breaks the laws of physics and nature but doesn’t seem to bother them. They leave dark trails in their wake, drip the oily slick across Kirin’s skin and down onto the sheets. It’ll stain them, leave translucently black blotches along with the smeared red that drips of the end of Lying’s hair, but they don’t really care about that right now.

Don’t really have the mental capacity to care about _anything_ , right now, not with the way Kirin’s bucking and groaning beneath them.

The sensory feedback of their slick skin against the furnace-warmth of Kirin’s is sending static up their spine, rolling pleasure that tightens in their stomach and strangles in their throat. They gasp, hiss, clutch at Kirin’s shoulder tighter and ignore the way their nails sink into the skin.

With every downwards shove of Lying’s hips, every frantic grind against skin now slippery with dark, smearing slick, the tentacles wind tighter. The ones around his waist and thighs are coiled enough that they turn the skin around them white, are on the verge of pressing bruises into the flesh below, and the thought makes Lying groan.

They rock down against Kirin again, and again, grind hard against the planes of his stomach and the solidity of his hipbones, groan against his lips. Pressing their foreheads together, they kiss him, slow and hungry and molten, breathe shakily into the shared space between their mouths when they come up for air.

“Just stay still,” they murmur into his mouth, hands cradling the beard-rough line of his jaw and thumbs pressing bruises into his cheekbones. They kiss him again, harder, frantic – draw blood that tastes bitter copper and delicious on their tongue, and they feel dizzy with it. Beneath them Kirin groans, arches into it, and they shove at his shoulders with an insistence bordering on desperation. “Just- _stay still_.”


End file.
